


Amok Timelord

by Ya_Boi_McCoy_2227



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, NSFW, Porn Without Plot, Smut, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 22:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19913479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ya_Boi_McCoy_2227/pseuds/Ya_Boi_McCoy_2227
Summary: After a regular day with The Doctor, he begins acting strangely





	Amok Timelord

**Author's Note:**

> (y/b) - your bottoms (i.e. shorts)
> 
> (y/s) - your shirt
> 
> (y/f/c) - your favorite color

The Doctor and I’s usual adventure of fighting aliens to save the world was altogether odd: The Doctor kept avoiding me until necessary, and used brutal methods. No, he didn’t take a Dalek out of its mechanical shell and disembody it piece by piece - though that would have been awesome. Unlike his usual self, The Doctor equipped himself with a lead pipe, exposed the Dalek, and began beating the shit out of it. Due to the fact I’m a human, the bystander effect overpowered my psyche: I just stood there and observed my loving and merciful Doctor smash the life out of a living creature instead of, in a way, taking them off life support. Though the Daleks have no equivalent of redemption in their culture, this all seemed absolutely sick when The Doctor has no mercy to serve to them. When my Timelord was through annihilating our foe, he just led me back to the Tardis silently.

Of course I tried to aide The Doctor by asking for his symptoms, but that juxtaposingly backfired into him shoving me away. In an effort to find out why he’s acting so unsoundly, I trekked to the Tardis’s library for justification found in books of Timelord pathophysiology and biology. Though I found something similar to a medical guide, none of the diseases have symptoms The Doctor is experiencing - perhaps he’s just having a bad day. Then again, when does he have a bad day?

When I arrived back to the console room, he wasn’t there in his usual spot. The Tardis was abnormally void of The Doctor’s chatter about history or saving the world or his boredom, he couldn’t have left me here alone since that would be a stupid idea, so, where is he? “FUCK”, I heard calling me from one of the corridors, since when does The Doctor swear on that level? Going my by instincts and curiosity, I trekked down the metaphorical rabbit hole to him - obscenities, heavy breathing, and apparently moaning seductively slithered into my ears. I think I know what’s going on, I couldn’t have caused it, could I? “(Y/N)!” I heard echo in the metal pathway towards The Doctor, I definitely caused it. I’m aware The Doctor is a humanoid organism, but, I wouldn’t have guessed his species has that trait in common with humans. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t find it in any of the books, much like certain cultures, it’s taboo in Timelord culture. There’s only one way to find out my conspiracy, I must boldly go into his room.

Oh god, I’m already beet red at the idea of what I’m most likely about to visually intake. I peek into his private chamber, and I’m unsure how to react: The Doctor’s pants are lowered enough to make himself more comfortable, one of his hands gripping his erection while his hips are thrusting upwards. If he’s not moving his hand at all, oh fuck…. “Aw fuckin’ hell, (y/n)” he moaned as he continued his sinful movement, part of me wants to know what’s going on in his mind, and part of me doesn’t. His breaths are getting shorter, heavier, increasingly rapid and laced with obscenities and my name. Every other sound from his mouth, besides panting, moaning, and swears, were statements I would have never imagined The Doctor saying: various degrading terms he would never use combined with commands I’ve only dreamed of him saying. Speaking of my fantasies, my psyche and physiology have begun to react accordingly - dear lord I need to be fucked _now_. “Oh fuck me” I managed to whisper absent mindedly, I don’t have any logical explaination for the fact he looked up at me, panting. The Doctor let go of himself, still erect and deprived of physical contact, as he got up and stalked towards me, I backed up against the wall and shut my eyes in a way my eyelids appear welded together.

I felt his index and middle fingers on my temples, what my psyche endured only riled up my hormones more so than they already were: his physique and psyche were in desperate need of myself, though he would be in control. The Doctor explained that for him to be back to his normal self, he must undergo an energy draining ritual his species experience once every seven years caused by an imbalance in the brain chemistry, and it can also be quite uncomfortable for non-Timelords. If he doesn’t mate, he _will_ die within eight days. He questioned whether or not I want this, “please D-Doctor, I want you as much as you need me”, I could only sense his breathing until he ambushed me with his mouth. His hands dropped from my temples and grabbed my waist as he pushed his pelvis towards mine, “you’re _my_ possession” he growled sinisterly into my ear. The Doctor picked me up, effortlessly, and harshly threw me onto his bed where his hands continued their trek along my body, going from my waist to the hem of my shirt. I could feel the fabric shift upwards to reveal my bra-clad breasts, his breaths got heavier as he removed the top layer of my garments. His hands migrated to the clasps of my bra, and impatiently struggled to remove the support before resorting to ripping it off of me. I could sense the physical trek downwards towards my (y/b), he assessed the type of fabric which materialized them. That inevitably led to _rip_ the (y/b) being ripped in half, revealing my (y/f/c) underpants. Without logic nor surprise, The Doctor treated the fabric that separated him from my vulva, and obviously my vaginal lips. I could feel his vision intake my nude form at a slow yet honorable pace as if he were viewing artwork. At that moment, The Doctor thought he could compose himself, apologize, then go on about his day - choosing to not remember this instance at all. 


End file.
